


California

by threatofjoy



Category: Anteros (Band), Two Door Cinema Club
Genre: April-June 2017, F/F, M/M, Mustang Margaritas, Tattoos, The Desert, coachella, compulsory heterosexuality, gay or pretentious?, gay realizations, mlm/wlw solidarity, oblivious gays
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-30
Updated: 2018-12-30
Packaged: 2019-09-30 16:54:56
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17227799
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/threatofjoy/pseuds/threatofjoy
Summary: In the spring they start dating, three trips to sunny California find Alex and Laura faced with places and people that bring back certain memories in a new light. New realizations make them question how they feel about each other, themselves, and the friends of their past as they travel through the desert.





	California

    California had an air of both chaos and calmness, particularly in the spring. Where London was still slowly, rainily awakening from the dreariness of winter, California was in summer's full swing, despite it being only mid-April. This was particularly true at Coachella, a sprawling sea of activity, its audience rushing from act to act in great waves of people. Alex Trimble had seen many music festivals before, but their sheer size never failed to impress him, time and again. Laura Hayden was no stranger to music festivals herself, but the bustling festival grounds of Coachella seemed to utterly mesmerize her, grinning in awe at just how active it was. 

 

 

 

 

    At the moment, Laura was poring over a map and a schedule. It was Friday evening, so the acts of the next day were quite excitingly soon. Laura had originally set out to circle only the bands that she absolutely needed to see, but somewhere along the way, she had circled about half the page.

    “So… Blossoms are on that stage, and then Car Seat Headrest’s over there, and… hm…” Laura continued to squint over the schedule.

    “You do realize we’re going to be very busy tomorrow, right?” Alex interjected.

    “Well, _you’re_ going to be busy.  _I’m_  going to be busy seeing every act I can,” countered Laura with a smirk. “Hm… ooh, Mitski!”

    “Mitski’s tomorrow? That’s no fair,” said Alex.

    His girlfriend was too excited to be very sympathetic.                                                                                                         

    Laura being _his girlfriend_ was only a fairly new development. Alex had tagged along with Anteros on tour for a few months on end, and Laura and Alex were fast friends. Such fast friends, in fact, that it seemed to raise eyebrows amongst the others. They were, of course, a pair of fairly inseparable, both single, one-guy-one-girl friends. Teasing along the lines of "get a room" was inevitable.

    The two came to realize that they really were fond of each other, however. Alex had spent quite a time mulling over how he felt about Laura, and whether it was _romance,_ persay, between them, but he always seemed to come back to the same point. Why _wouldn't_ it be romance? Laura was perfectly lovely, and obviously utterly beautiful. The two of them had been basically joined at the hip for months. Of course he would want her to be his girlfriend, he thought.

    When it came to it, Alex left Laura roses and a sweet, flowery-worded note. For as much as he'd written of romance in verse and chorus, this proved surprisingly difficult. Laura had adored it. Her deliberation over the same topic—do I like him in _that_ way—had been concluded for her. And so Laura kissed Alex, and it seemed to make sense.

    By the time of their California venture, the two were a veritable pair of lovebirds, as their friends would tell you. To Alex and Laura, however, not much had changed except nominally. They were friends, first and foremost, and all the kissing and hand-holding of romance were still merely secondary to their simple camaraderie. 

    "Ooh," exclaimed Laura, still looking over schedules, "and Sunday's got Lorde and New Order..."

   The next day, as Laura was joyfully carrying out her careful plan of artists to see, Two Door were carrying out the usual this and that that had to be done before a festival set. Interviews, and making sure everything was in its proper place, and generally making sure they were set and ready, though they always were. 

   "Hm," mused Sam, prompted by nothing in particular, "five years ago, we were also here in California, I think. We recorded Beacon around April, didn't we?"

   "Oh," said Alex, "yeah, I think that's right." He paused. "It's weird that it's been that long." 

    That time seemed both not long ago and an eternity ago to Alex. 2012 had been an adventure, a turning point—and, Alex supposed regretfully, sort of the beginning of the end. But, of course, here they were again, and all was well. 

   Remembering April of 2012 brought with it not only fond memories of the recording process, obviously, but of the fantastic journey across the desert that marked the end of Beacon’s recording.

    In fact, as Alex remembered, even at the time, half his mind was captivated by the excitement of the trip ahead of them. The promise of such an adventure had been a spark of energy to get through the last stages of recording, which at times could feel a bit tedious. Planning for the trip had also kept Alex’s mind from fixating on all the things that needed to be done for the album for every waking moment. Instead, when Two Door weren’t busy recording, Alex was double-checking reservations and rentals, referencing maps, and making sure, for the millionth time, that the two would have enough film. 

    One sunny Friday, however, his dreaming of the journey had begun to overtake his focus on recording. It was not without good reason; he had woken up to a four A.M. (in California’s time zone, it was a more reasonable noon in London) text from Jamie. 

    It read simply,  _"Boarding the plane. See you in LA x”_

   The rest of the day had breezed by, and around three o’ clock, Alex set off for the airport in the just-rented Mustang to pick up Jamie. And so, their adventure had begun. 

   It didn't feel as if five years had passed since then. When it came to Jamie, thinking about the past few years made them feel less drastic. For about two years of being everywhere but nowhere, he had been a sort of constant in Alex's life. When everything else was terribly hectic, he could at least call Jamie to ask to come and visit on a moment's notice. Alex still had a tendency towards impromptu journeys to Jamie, as last February had shown.

    There was only one thing to do when it was three days to Valentine’s Day and, under not the happiest of circumstances, you were very recently single. Apparently, it was to text Jamie William and ask if he had any plans in the next few days. Alex wasn’t entirely sure why going to see him was his first thought to fill some of the awkward space of time between shows, but he knew that Jamie was similarly dateless for the 14th. Who needed girlfriends, he supposed, when the two of them could engage in their usual fun, from photographic adventures to deep, rambling, late-night chats? Jamie, as he always seemed to be, was free for the time being, and so it was a journey home to Bangor, with plans of nothing much in particular.

    Bangor was a welcoming sight to Alex. The relative quietness that had frustrated him as a teenager with dreams of music stardom was now a refreshing respite from the hecticness of touring. On the eve of Valentine’s, the two wandered around a particularly picturesque beach, cameras at the ready. When Alex looked out at the deserted expanses (February beachgoers in Northern Ireland are few and far between) he was met with an odd, familiar feeling, like they were the only two people in the world, explorers of a desolate, far-off planet. Their Californian adventures of days gone by had felt much the same way.

   The next day, they were midway through watching some black-and-white foreign art film that Alex had already forgotten the name of—it was no _La Jetée,_  but it was fairly interesting—when Jamie finally ventured the question, "Are you... alright?"

    It took Alex a moment to realize that Jamie meant on a broader scale than that very instant (in which Alex was quite comfortable on the couch, thank you very much) and he paused before replying, "Yeah, I'm... I'm fine."

    Alex and Jamie had always found it a bit difficult to navigate the space between casual and dramatically abstract in conversation. They were the best of friends, but usually their discussions of such things as life and love were in very broad terms and involved quite a bit of literary allusion. Alex hadn't elaborated when he said he was dateless for the 14th, and Jamie hadn't inquired further. The topic did hang heavy in the air, however, on this Valentine's evening as some handsome French couple of old embraced on the screen in front of them.

     "It just... I mean, I wasn't the greatest boyfriend, I never was, and everything was so busy again, and the past few years were... a lot, and..." Alex smiled wryly. "At least she didn't just blame it all on touring."

     Jamie nodded. "Well, fuck her. I mean, it doesn't seem as simple as that, but it feels nice to say. Fuck her. Fuck that."

     "I guess," said Alex. "Fuck that."

     Jamie smiled. "And I'll go get us more beer." He departed to the kitchen and returned with two bottles. "Oh," he added, handing one to Alex, "and I forgot to mention, I have an appointment at Kat's tattoo place tomorrow. Do you have anything you've been dying to get inked? I'm sure she'd give you an extra slot."

     "Yeah, actually," said Alex. “Have you read  _Breakfast of Champions?”_

    Jamie shook his head. “Who’s it by?”

    “Vonnegut,” Alex replied. “There’s this drawing of a flamingo from it I’ve been wanting to get tattooed for a while. It’s a very good book.”

    “Sounds cool. I’m getting a magpie. I met up with her a few weeks ago and told her I wanted something with a magpie and she came up with this gorgeous design. I think I want it here,” said Jamie, pointing to the outside of his left arm. “The opposite arm from my prized _Alex J. Trimble_  from last time.” 

    The idea for said _Alex J. Trimble_  tattoo was thought up as Jamie and Alex were sitting in a bathtub in fairly drenched clothes at some time around 3 a.m., shortly after taking a series of rather interesting photos.

    “No, wait,” declared Jamie, “I want your name tattooed. Right here.” He gestured to the inside of his right bicep. “Alex J. Trimble.” 

    Alex snickered. “Are you sure you want to be stuck with my name forever?”

    Jamie nodded. “Yeah. You’re… you.”

    Alex decided not to question what that meant. “I suppose I have to get your name too, then.” He gestured to his own arm. “Jamie William Adamson—“

    “Just ‘Jamie William’ is better,” Jamie interjected.

    “Ah, yes, your stage name,” said Alex.

    “It’s not a _stage name,_ it just sounds better. More succinct,” said Jamie.

    “In the interest of really being succinct, we could just go with each other’s initials,” said Alex.

    “You can,” said Jamie, “but I’ve made up my mind, Alex J. Trimble.”

    As it turned out, he had indeed made up his mind, even after the alcohol of the night wore off. 

    “Is it hurting?” asked the tattoo artist.

    “…Just a little,” said Jamie through a notably contorted facial expression.

    “Just a little.” The tattoo artist laughed. “Well, if you say so, but you have to be more still or we’ll be here all day. Actually, you know what— you over there, Alex.”

    Alex looked up from his phone, sitting in a nearby chair.

    “Come over here and let him squeeze your hand,” she said authoritatively.

    Jamie blushed. “No, no, it’s fine—“

    The tattoo artist raised her eyebrows. “Well, it might be fine for you, but all your twitching isn’t fine for me. If you’re good enough friends to get his whole name tattooed on you, you’re good enough friends for him to hold your hand while I do it."

    Alex was incredibly bemused. “Of course. Need me to kiss it better afterwards?” he snickered.

    Jamie sighed. “Just grab my hand, fucker."

    "The first one's always the worst," said Alex.

    "I sure hope so," replied Jamie.

     Once Jamie's arm was all properly inked, (and had turned rather pink from the process) it was Alex's turn to be adorned with a JW tattoo of his own. It was a shorter process than the former, but long enough for Jamie to make sure he took a fair deal of photos. After snapping a few, he sat down again in the chair where Alex had sat on hand-holding duty. Jamie blinked, scrolled on his phone for a moment, and slipped his hand into Alex's in much the same way as before. It was almost absent-mindedly, and Alex nearly didn't even notice given the preoccupation of his other arm.

     Of course, Alex didn't _need_ someone to hold his hand. He was well-versed in being tattooed. Had Jamie asked, of course he would have said no. But it was nice all the same. Alex glanced at Jamie, who was again intently scrolling through something on his phone with his other hand, and smiled.

    Jamie didn't need a hand to hold the second time around. Alex watched Kat carefully draw in lines of color on the wings of the magpie forming on Jamie's bicep. Looking at Jamie's clenched fist, he sort of wished Jamie was holding his hand again, odd as it was. Regardless, it was always far nicer getting tattoos with Jamie than with anyone else. A lonely Valentine's had been thoroughly remedied.

    Between the "JW," the Beacon art, and the new addition of Vonnegut's flamingo, Alex's left arm was a clutter of memories. Five years was a long time since Beacon and the desert, but from where Alex sat outside, the hot sun of California hadn't changed.

    The thought of the sun interrupted Alex's introspection with the realization that he should really put on some sun cream, and he ceased his musings to go find some in their dressing room.

    Meanwhile, Laura was making good on her plans to explore the festival. It was a different sort of exciting to be a spectator and not a performer at a festival, not to mention Coachella’s sheer size. Laura wandered to the stage she’d marked off on her schedule in no particular hurry as she watched all the other merrymakers of the festival. Though the stereotypical “Coachella” style was alive and well in a fair few people she saw, (thankfully not much of the culturally insensitive sort) there seemed to be a different fashion sense in every direction she looked. The only thing tying them all together was that everyone was desperate to beat the heat.

    Laura stopped for a moment when a glint of something caught her eye and she turned to realize it was three girls wearing no more than a heavy application of glitter on their chests walking past. She giggled. Ah, Coachella. The sun, the music, and glitter on boobs! What more could she have asked for?

    Soon enough, she reached her destination as Mitski stepped onto the Gobi stage and put on a show that captivated Laura even more than body glitter in the sun. She loved plenty of music, but she _loved_ women in music. Solidarity, she supposed. Girl power. In any case, the show was superb. California as a whole was superb. And it had been far too long since she’d last been under the dreamy desert sun.

**Author's Note:**

> there is much to come later for this fic, so stay tuned


End file.
